by Franco Panno
To scrape together some change, in our carefree childhood days, we waited for the truck of watermelons. To unload it, in exchange, the owner of the fruit and vegetable shop paid us five thousand lire and two watermelons, which we ate on the spot. This happened on summer evenings. The money earned was spent on comics, ice cream, cold drinks and more, every now and then to feel grown up we went to a pizzeria, for the pleasure of being served at the table.
I still remember the friendly pizza chef: he fell under the blows of the mafia war that bloodied the city for a decade, I think he had nothing to do with it, then being close to one of the clans was enough to be killed. Naturally, we tried to invite the girls, who reluctantly refused due to time constraints. We often found Miriam in the pizzeria, she worked at night, she wasn’t a nurse, she looked like Abbe Lane, she often paid our bill, and before going to work she threw us, from her Canyons, a kiss that at night, under the sheets, it was cause for reflection. The only place we never frequented were the parishes, we were banished, the object of crucifix in confessions, those who associated with us would have gone to hell.
I still remember those trucks full of watermelons, when they arrived we were already thinking about how our lives would change with five thousand lire. Part of the proceeds went towards the care of Lola, a blind dog, we built her a kennel among the trees.
We were happy, it was June, the World Cup in Germany 74 was beginning, the ones that changed the history of football.
Sorry seems to be the hardest words, Elton John
Good morning
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